Page 39 of Dark Wolf Soul
“You already have.”
The words are out before I can stop them. It’s the most honest, vulnerable thing I’ve said, and I hate that I’ve let it slip.
“This is about the lap dance.” The anger melts away, and in its place is a predatory sort of triumph that makes my skin heat. I’d rather have the anger. At least then, I’d have some semblance of control over this thing between us.
“That dance didn’t mean shit,” I lie.
I’d fold my arms over my chest, but he’s standing so close my forearm brushes his shirt.
Dammit.
When did he get this close?
I drop my arms again, fisting my hands at my sides as I struggle to breathe, but every inhale is full of him.
He cocks his head. “Didn’t it?”
Even as I hate myself for it, I can feel a flush creeping into my cheeks. “Why did you make me do it?” I whisper.
He glances at my mouth then back up again. “I didn’t make you do anything.”
My back hits the wall. I didn’t even realize I’d retreated, but it doesn’t matter because he’s crowding in already, stealing all the oxygen between us. All the power and control. Just like that first night. I’m helpless to stop him. To stop falling.
“You know what I mean,” I say, breathless because I refuse to breathe him in anymore.
He studies me, and I bite my lip, every nerve ending in my body tuned to him now. His head dips lower, and in that moment, I know he’s going to kiss me. And damn if I don’t actually want him to.
But I can’t let myself fall into the same trap I did that first night.
Not again.
Not when he’s used it against me every step of the way.
So, I steel myself against how badly I want him and wait.
The moment his lips brush over mine, I allow myself a shudder of pleasure, and then I whisper against his mouth, “I’ll agree to your father’s terms on one condition.”
He pulls away, and I ignore how much I hate his retreat. His eyes blaze down at me before his careful mask slips into place.
“And what is that?”
“I want a meeting with my grandfather. In person.”
He frowns. “Meeting Franco’s a bad idea. Especially after tonight.”
“You seem pretty good at bad ideas to me.”
He scowls. “I’m serious, Lexi. Trucker clearly had orders to kill you. Who the hell do you think it came from?”
“I don’t care. Give me that meeting, and I’ll pretend whatever you want. Engagement, marriage, whatever. When it’s over, I walk away, and you can sit on your little mafia throne in peace.”
He steps back, dark gaze flashing with something that looks like disappointment. “You think that’s what I care about?”
“I have no idea what you care about, but I know it’s not me.”
“Lexi.” He exhales. “That lap dance… I’ve never done that before.”
“That makes two of us.”
